Flight of the Assassin
by Deliamon
Summary: A Red Eye and Harry Potter crossover. It's been two years, and Jackson Rippner, has a new target. But 24 year old Hermione Granger is not a Lisa Reisert, and the plot to kill Harry Potter certainly seems suspicous ... RR please!
1. Introduction

_A/N: Hello everybody! This is the first fic I've created for three years… my other fics listed under my name were creating long time ago and probably don't have very proper grammar. _

_This is a Red Eye-Harry Potter cross over. I do not own Harry Potter or Red Eye._

_In Red Eye, Charles Keefe was the primary target while Lisa Reisert was the "secondary" target. Jackson Rippner was therefore assigned to a secondary target. Secondary targets are usually not meant to die unless plans go haywire. The actions or presence of a secondary target are often made to trigger the primary target's death. In Red Eye, Charles Keefe's death depended on the action (phone call) of the secondary target. The new girl that Jackson is assigned to his next case is also a secondary target)_

_**POINT OF VIEW: JACKSON RIPPNER**_

Jackson Rippner raised his eyebrows and exhaled softly. He drained his coffee quickly and glanced at the electrical clock on display. He would have to enter the gate in fifteen minutes. He attempted to ignore the woman sitting next to him, whose blonde hair and tacky scarf were almost as unappealing as her unsubtle remarks. Jackson gave her a quick transparent smile, and she was satisfied. Yet the reason behind Jackson's annoyance over the woman's hair and scarf were far more complex. She, along with many minute aspects of this flight and its passengers, reminded him of a similar flight that had occurred two years ago. He had been twenty three years old then, but nonetheless very attractive, charming, and deadly.

He had made a mistake and he had paid dearly for it. Jackson had not put any effort in planning revenge; he still faithfully believed in his _male fact-based logic_, and he was very convinced that the most practical decision would be to move on.

But it had hurt. It had hurt like hell: both physically and emotionally. A hole on his thigh, three bullets in his stomach, his vocal cords had been virtually destroyed, and he had been a witness to excruciating pain. It had all been temporary of course; it had taken a year to recover – eight months of which were spent in the hospital. The Miami Local Prison had been almost too easy to escape from, and Jackson's company had long before infiltrated the police force. And now, Jackson Rippner was back, his appearance unchanged from three years before.

The emotional wound had been the hardest to heal. Jackson, like many young assassins, had a vast ego and a little hotel clerk had mortally ruined his pride. Although his voice was now restored to its previous tone and pitch, the scar on his pale neck itched slightly whenever he recalled that particular woman. It had been a job that was supposed to be easy. Jackson had not seen Lisa Reisert since he had blackened out on her hardwood floor, and for that he was grateful. He did not need any reminding of that particular incident.

His company associates had tried to tease Rippner of the failed flight several times. But time was passing; jokes got old. And the assassin, not quite forgiven for his inexcusable blunder, was back to work. As of three months ago.

_Finally. _

Those three months had been spent in careful examination of his new target. He was not eager to make a mistake again. When the assassin had first looked at his own assigned prey in the plan, he had wondered why the company had to choose another _pretty young woman_ as a secondary target.

The girl did not necessarily look like Lisa Reisert. Her smile was warmer, her skin was less pale, and her hair was a dark brown instead of a red colour. The hair was long and wavy, not at all like Lisa's short red curls. She strode more confidently, yet there was also an air of sadness in her walk. Just like Lisa. The girl read Dickens instead of Dr. Phil, had dentists for parents instead of retired businessmen, and drank apple juice instead of seabreezes. She was also a history student teacher.

She was single. It was obvious, the lone apartment having no photos/mementos or anything of the sort. For the three months that he had followed her, there was no change in routine, no family, and no boyfriends. She was hiding. A death had occurred in her close circle of friends almost a year ago and she had withdrawn in the shadows, sticking to routine. Just like Lisa. She loved no one and kept away from men. But one man loved her. Out of all the letters she had received (Jackson had gone over each one: opening the mailbox, reading the letters, and sealing them into new identical envelopes before returning the mail) there had been many from one particular young man.

The boy had enclosed his picture in one of the letters; light eyes, dark hair, charming smile and a black suit – almost similar to Jackson himself. But there the similarities ended. The smile was charming, but unlike Jackson's own cold baby- blues, the green eyes were filled with sorrow. The letters were never replied. Jackson could often see the girl incinerating them. And so, as Jackson Rippner looked at the photograph of the pretty brown-haired woman, he marveled of how alike she was to Lisa Reisert. She was returning home from a holiday to New York. The assassin would sit next to her. He would not make the same mistake again. For there was a very large change to the plan of action.

Instead of the girl's actions, the girl's very _presence_ would itself be the determining aspect to the success of the plan.

Hermione Granger would not have to call anyone. She was bait.

_And in twenty four hours, Harry Potter would be dead._

POINT OF VIEW: HERMIONE GRANGER 

Hermione Granger double checked her purse and suitcase before seating herself in the old haggard taxi. The vacation had certainly been pleasurable. She had entranced herself with the history of the city, specifically the Statue of Liberty and the World Trade Centre Ground Zone. Her aunt and uncle lived in Ottawa; so she had taken the tour of the Canadian parliament buildings, had rode in the boats on the canal, had seen the CN Tower in Toronto and had been to Wonderland. Her vacation had been distracting – but not quite distracting enough.

There were too many memories. And Hermione Granger was emotionally drained.

The colour red, once her favourite as a young Gryffindor classmate, was now her worst. Red reminded the twenty four year old of blood, of Voldemort's eyes, of Ginny's hair, and most of all… of Ronald Weasley.

Ron and Ginny had died together. Voldemort had killed them in Riddle Manor himself. They had been tortured with Bellatrix's Cruciatus curse, with Avery's knife curse, with Dolohov's slashes and with fifteen pain-causing potions created by Severus Snape.

Red also reminded her of love, of the passion she had shared with Ron at the Burrow, and then at the Horocrux adventures.

Harry Potter had learned about the two deaths only after defeating Tom Riddle. When he finally understood, Harry had suddenly acquired his selfish fifteen-year-old temper tantrum persona. He had sworn at her, screaming that she was a know-it-all, a stupid girl who should have been there for his friends. He claimed that her life was perfect compared to his. And that she couldn't possibly understand what he was going through, _losing his best friend and love of his life at once_. He had slammed a door in her face, even after knowing that her face was covered with tears.

Not understand, indeed.

Harry had come to apologize a few days later, and she had been about to relent until the emotionally troubled boy kissed her.

She understood that his emotions were vulnerable, but that did not stop her from slapping her best friend on the cheek, breaking her wand, and moving to an apartment in London.

She had received letters from many acquaintances by owl, many of them, each of which she politely replied back and declared that if they were not going to send the letter the Muggle way… she would move to some unknown location. She was kind enough to add a postscript mentioning that if they thought she couldn't detect a simple tracking charm, they were sorely mistaken. She had moved a couple of times, but all of her friends needed no second warning. That had been at the beginning. Now, within the past six months, even her letters didn't mention any magic. She kept in touch with each of them by the post, and convinced herself that she was much happier this way.

After all, her Hogwarts friends had always said that Hermione Granger's determination was even more prolonging than Ron Weasley's own stubbornness.

She had read each of Harry's letters, but each seemed to disappoint her. Sometimes he was too caring, therefore over-stepping the lines and being ignorant of Ron's role in her life. Ron was deceased, but she was indignant that Harry should not take his role. And sometimes, he was too scolding.

"I've been writing you for months Hermione, are you that stubborn not to even answer a letter? We are all living in these times but everyone else has stayed. Voldemort is gone and everyone is dealing with this…"

And now she had finally settled herself into a comforting thoroughly Muggle routine, completely oblivious to the simple reality that she had overestimated her safety in the Muggle World. She forgot that Muggles could be bad too.

And so, Hermione Granger loaded her luggage onto the carrier, not knowing that a charming blue eyed stranger was eying her intently.

_**A/N:**_

Okay, I was smiling a bit when I wrote the last sentences. So sue me. :P. I'd like to clear up a few things before I continue.

1. First of all, I promise you that I will be updating quite frequently… I'll aim for an entry every four days. I'm on summer holidays, and I'm bored.

2. I want reviews. Badly. Please? If it makes you feel any better, I think this is the first time anyone's tried a Red Eye/Harry Potter crossover. It should be good, but I'm not saying who I'm crossing with who. Or who died/dies. Sorry

3. I need grammar help. I think I've been using too many commas. If somebody is willing to be a volunteer editor for my fics, please leave a review with your contact information.

4. The other entries will be longer.


	2. And so they meet

A/N: THIS IS THE EDITED VERSION… read it first before proceeding to ch3

**Before I continue, I have to say that I usually favour logical fictions as well… and I promise that the whole issue of magic will be solved at one point or another. No loopholes, and no unsolved problems. Just keep reading. **

Hermione Granger stared at the airport electronic display and groaned. Her plane wasn't arriving for another hour and a half. Hermione's aunt had told her that the plane would be departing at least forty minutes earlier. True, the relative did have terrible eyesight. She had probably mistaken West Jet for Air Canada. Hermione shrugged and eyed a Second Cup restaurant nearby. She thanked her stars for her recent discovery of caffeine and immediately gathered her purse and boarding pass. A double-double with whipped cream to the top… it was rather fortunate she had traveled to America.

A patch of vivid blonde hair suddenly caught her attention and she squinted for a better look. The fair straightened locks looked rather familiar. But no, it was impossible… it couldn't be. Seeing this particular man inside anything remotely Muggle was simply a paradox of the laws of life. Her jaw dropping slightly, Hermione remembered when she had seen this man last.

He had been at an inquest, a trial three months ago. The man had been charged of rape, several counts of murder, Death Eater fellowship and most surprisingly, three assists in murder: one of Albus Dumbledore, one of Lucius Malfoy and one of Lord Voldemort himself. Harry had killed both Lucius and Riddle, but Draco had given him the relevant information: Voldemort's location, his weaknesses, his closest circle, and even down to Lucius's usual hangouts. Draco Lucius Malfoy had been pardoned, and no one had seen him since.

But Hermione had not been fooled. Draco was not a follower. He was a brat, an obnoxious git whose pleasure rose from teasing and bullying. His level of immaturity was astounding. When Hermione had attempted to create some sort of truce between them, he had behaved as if her open hand was a Flobberworm. And he had spit on her, called her a Mudblood and left. Draco Malfoy had not lost his sense of prejudice and Hermione was certainly not happy to see him. Malfoy himself was attempting to fit into the bustling crowd, eying his boarding pass skeptically and walking towards her. He had obviously not seen her; his eyes were still fixed on his ticket.

It was almost as if he was hiding something. She hastily admonished herself for her recurring suspicious thoughts. Hermione quickly assessed the situation and then decided what she should do. There was nothing to lose, and nothing to gain – except for seeing the almighty Draco Malfoy flustered. She couldn't resist. She smiled wickedly and walked right up to him.

"Hello Malfoy." Her voice was calm and confident, yet her face was rather blank.

Draco's eyes widened comically. She had obviously shocked him, and he had the look of a mouse caught by a cat.

"Mu-… er- Granger."

"What on earth are you doing here?" She could tell that he was fighting the direct impulse to scream that it was none of her business.

"Actually, I'm—"

…

"Stop! _Freeze_!" The crowds parted rapidly, and Hermione and Draco stood still. A policeman grabbed Draco's hands roughly and forced them behind his back.

"Are you Draco Malfoy?"

"Yes – yes I am. What's going on here?"

"Draco Malfoy, you have been charged with obstruction of justice, theft and illegal entry into the United States of America. You have the right to remain silent…" Hermione stared at the struggling boy with a disapproving sort of look. He had only been in America for a month at the most, and he was in trouble _again_.

"Ma'am, do you know this man"

"Err…" For once, she was speechless. If she said yes, they would name her as an accomplice. If she said no, they would question the meeting between the two archenemies, and she would be forced to reveal that they met at Hogwarts. They would look up the school, and naturally find no Muggle records of –

"I'm going to have to take you in for questioning ma'am."

"Officer Carlton!"

The police-man turned around.

"How pleasant to see you here. Oh… do you know Hermione?" She stared at the new man, who was now grinning at her. She was quite certain she had never seen him in her life. He was very charming and handsome. Hermione quickly stored that information at the back of her mind and remained alert.

"Uhh…"

"Hermione is a friend of a friend Carly… don't you remember Harry Potter?" Hermione glanced at him sharply. This man knew Harry? Was he even a Muggle?

"Yes, as a matter of fact."

"Well Hermione here is involved in a new case of mine… you weren't about to take her in for questioning were you? Carly, Carly, Carly… does she even look harmful at all?"

"I'd have you know that –" Draco had finally started talking, and she was sure that he was going to talk about Hermione's sole use of the Imperius curse against Severus Snape.

"-- she played pranks on you in school?" Something had happened. The man's eyes which had primarily given off a charming and easy-going tone had suddenly turn cold. Hermione was glad that she wasn't on this man's bad side, and was even more happy that he was defending her.

In a flash, he was charming again. "Must we continue? I'm sure we all have appointments to consider… this is an airport after all." Officer Carlton lead Draco away, and Hermione's archenemy sent her a hateful look.

"Thank you"

"Not at all… just saw that one of Harry's old friends were here. How is he? I haven't seen him for nearly four years."

"You knew Harry?"

"Yeah… he was only ever on Privet Drive in the summer though."

"Ahh.. well, he's around."

"I see. He talked about you, you know."

"Really?"

"Yes. He said that you and Ron Weasley were his best friends… and that he wouldn't have made it through life without you two. Well, he said it to anyone who wanted to listen." Hermione had grown a bit sad, and the man changed the topic.

"Well anyways, it was nice meeting you Hermione…"

"You too… Wait, I never got your name!"

"Oh sorry about that…. Jackson Rippner."

"I see… well thanks for everything…I'd better check in then. Only a couple of hours until my flight… flying's horrible nowadays."

"Yeah it's true, the security is pretty bad… especially with that bomb plot a few months ago."

"Were you in London then?"

"No… I didn't come until a week and a half later."

"I see… I was in London, but luckily not at the airport… it's certainly mad the way things have been happening lately"

Hermione smiled after this comment and squinted at the flight schedule.

"Hey my flight…"

Her flight number was not listed on the schedule.

"What's wrong?"

"Flight 18A… it's not on the electronic flight board!"

"That's strange…" Jackson looked genuinely worried. "Maybe-"

"Oh it's back again. Why is it flashing?"

"I'm not sure… Sir? Sir!"

"Yes M'am"

"Do you work here?"

"Yes I do."

"Do you know why that flight is flashing"

The man's eyes widened…

"I have no idea… as far as I could tell, it's only coloured red when it's delayed."

Jackson chuckled. "Like magic isn't it?" Hermione looked at him sharply, but then relaxed… he didn't seem to hint anything by that particular comment.

"I'm on the same flight actually"

"Really? Business or pleasure"

Jackson smiled. "Both."

A/N: Jackson **never lies**. If you look at his dialogue carefully, you'll find out that he does admit he knows Harry… but he says he knows him from around the "neighbourhood"… not necessarily Privet Drive. Also, Jackson knows that Harry used to talk about Ron and Hermione all the time, but he never admits that Harry talked about them to Jackson himself.


	3. The Rosier Weakling

A/N: Believe me, I am fully aware that this chapter is a bit short… but I think that it was fully necessary to get the ending right. Anyways, sorry for not updating for a while… I had lots and lots of work to do :P

Jackson smiled as Hermione walked away to finally check in with reception. Not for the first time, he thanked his stars that he had examined her character thoroughly.

For Hermione had done very well in concealing her unusual identity.

His smile slowly faded as he remembered a time when he was not powerful, but rather weak and unconfident. And it had been all _their _fault. But there was no point in wasting anger over the past.

Jackson had taken care of _them_.

_Oh yes. Taken care indeed…_

**FLASHBACK**

"Hello Jackie"

Jackie was a girl's name… his father used the nickname when he was disgusted with his son. _Weaker than a bloody girl…_

"Have you received any mail lately?"

To any other eleven-year old boy, this question would have been considered as completely harmless. To Jackson however…

"N-no."

"No?"

"No Papa."

"What did you say?"

"I - ".

"The Rosiers have been a powerful pureblood family from the time of Slytherin. And you have told me that you have not received an acceptance from Hogwarts. Do you know what that means?"

It would have been easier if his father had been yelling at him. Jackson knew his father very well. This cold tone was much more deadly.

"It means that I am weak."

"No."

Jackson looked up to his father with a slightest tinge of hope.

"It means that you are worse than weak… it means that you are an animal, even worse than a damned Mudblood"

A tear flew down Jackson's cheek and he rubbed it away angrily. He would not cry… he was eleven, not nine. He was not a baby, and he would simply wait for his father's temper to –

"And most of all, it means that you are not my son"

Jackson stood near the oven in shock. This was beyond mean… this, this wasn't fair. It wasn't FAIR dammit! His hands were shaking, so Jackson quickly clenched them into fists.

And then unclenched them. And then smiled.

His father's wand was on the table. And without his wand… his father was almost as defenseless as he was.

No, not almost.

Jackson had learned knife-throwing lessons with Borgin… his father did not know of this of course, but Jackson had wanted to become a bad man. A bullying man, like his father.

And now, he had a chance to show his father just who was the weak one in the family.

The sink wasn't that far away after all… and the dishes weren't cleaned yet… which means that the steak knife was still on the sink counter…

He took the leather handle of the steak knife between his fingers.

And aimed.

"I am not weak."

Jules Rosier looked at his son in horror, and then slowly brought himself to stare at the gash in his pale throat.

"I am not weak."

There was a cry from the dining room and Jackson turned around slowly. His eyes were blank.

"Hello mother."

She began to scream… but the pureblood culture had given Jackson a very large advantage… the nearest neighbour was four miles away.

Realizing that no one was there to help her, and that Jackson was nowhere close to showing mercy… the foolish women reverted to anger.

"Rosiers respect the pureblood lineage Jackson! They bow down to their elders, and they take care of each other! They do not -- "

"And when Mother, did you ever take care of me? You never comforted me after Father casted Crutacius. And you must not worry… I am no longer a Rosier. "

" My surname is now Rippner. And you should have never named me Jack"

The knife flew.

And Jackson Rippner was born.

**END FLASHBACK**

The first indication of Hermione's magical heritage had come through, believe it or not, Harry Potter.

The boy had enclosed a moving picture of himself.

It was often the small amateurish mistakes that made the difference. Because of Harry Potter's blunder, Jackson had taken the eleven-inch unicorn hair mixed with cedar bark into account.

Jackson smiled once more… it was almost too ironic. Because of Harry's blunder, Hermione would be convinced properly… and then Harry would then die.

Life was so funny sometimes.


	4. The HalfBlood Prince

A/N: Thanks for the reviews everybody! I know a few people might be a bit incredulous about this sort of crossover; but I'm pretty determined on doing this and I have a nice plan for it… add it to your story alerts if you want.

A lot of you are also going to resent me for making your favourite "Sevvie" a really evil guy. Sue me :P. No, I'm joking… if you want to see my views considering this puzzling betrayer, please read my fic "Truth Behind the Mask". The story explaining Severus's betrayal of the Light Side is the only fic besides this one that actually makes sense ;)

_Always remember… if you're reading this, REVIEW! I've seen how many "hits" this fic has gotten… all you annoying people should leave some advice for me (or some compliments, that also works as well ) so that I can make my fic better! _

**Chapter 4: The Prince and the Rosier**

Severus Snape looked at the cracked looking glass and almost smiled. The boy had introduced himself to the Mudblood with the usual amount of charm and sophistication… which meant that the plan was underway.

Not many knew that the Rosiers and the Princes were cousin families. Severus's sister Elizabeth Snape had married his best friend Jules Rosier in the First War, and the product had been a boy with the brightest blue eyes that the potion master had ever seen in his life.

Years ago, Severus had visted the Rosier household on several occasions, both before and after the first fall of the Dark Lord. While glancing into the eyes of his friend's five year old son, he had accidentally triggered a form of Legillimency, and Severus had been shocked to discover that the boy had absolutely no presence of a magical persona.

From that incident onwards, the Snape had given the boy an ultimate sense of cruel disdain and disgust, while pitying his ignorant father. Weakness was not tolerated in pureblood families, and a Squibb was about as weak as they got.

About six years later, Severus had entered the house only to find his best friend scrawled on the kitchen floor with a knife in his throat, and his bitch of a sister on her back in a similar fashion.

Severus had been unfazed by death due to his time serving the Dark Lord, but he was certainly curious of the method of death. Why could the Rosiers' unknown enemy not kill their prey with magic? Why _knives_?

All questions were answered when the potions professor entered the boy's room, however… giving a rather disturbing solution.

Upon discovering the blood stains on the boy's jeans, Severus cast a tracking spell on the sleeping boy and apparated out of the house. Such an immense amount of ruthlessness in a boy was worthy of the Dark Lord himself, but without an equal amount of magical power the boy would not be able to cause much potential harm.

How very wrong he was.

Severus had thanked his stars for casting this particular advanced tracking spell, which not only told of the boy's exact location but also acted as a sort of Penseive… recording the boy's turnpoints in his life, his many conquests and his very few failures.

Jackson Rippner had become the most feared and ruthless assassin in the United States of America at the age of twenty-one, and even Severus could not conceal the shiver of pride at knowing that he had a nephew so damn powerful. He had been trained by the best, and like the Dark Lord… he prided himself with the abuse of the mind and left others to deal with the abuse of the body.

The boy was certainly very intelligent, and from the age of twelve, he had not made the same mistake twice. He was not afraid to learn from his failures. Severus had examined his most recent failure in great depth, and had concluded that it was the boy's underestimation of his victim which had not allowed Keefe to be killed. The message in the Dr. Phil book was expected, but the message on the mirror was not… but Jackson had learned his lesson and spent twice as long of a time examining the next target before meeting her.

Severus was now in prison for killing Albus Dumbledore, but he still held the looking glass in his hand… a Muggle object charmed together with the tracking spell to show the recent events in Jackson's life.

Life could be so much worse. For one thing, the Dementors could have still roamed Azkaban, when in truth they had fled England when the Dark Lord was defeated.

Severus's own prison guard was in fact a spy, a spy who truly served the Dark Arts and respected the potion master immensely.

While Jackson was in the local Miami hospital recovering from his multitude of wounds, Severus had instructed the spy to contact Jackson's employer. The assignment was to strictly be given to Rippner and Rippner only… and the pay would be twice as much as the boy's previous assignments.

The boy would undoubtedly jump at the opportunity… money did make the world go round after all.

Jackson was responsible for more deaths than the Lestrange couple combined.

Yet even Jackson Rippner himself did not know the true extent of Severus's plans. For him, the assignments were simply part of his job… he did not take an extreme amount of pleasure in them, but rather treated them as part of a simple occupation. This treatment allowed Jackson to be coldly precise in all of his methods of manipulation. And so Jackson Rippner had never wondered why Keefe would be killed… he simply followed through with Reisert.

In the same way, Rippner would never bother to find out why Harry Potter had to be killed… and why he had to die in that particular mysterious manner.

The entire wizarding world believed that Voldemort was dead… and that all seven parts of his soul were demolished.

Potter had destroyed Godric Gryffindor's sorting hat, assuming it to be a Horocrux.

Yet long ago, soon after the death of Albus Dumbledore, Voldemort had told Snape that the hat was simply a fake Horocrux, an item which would simply confuse the Light Wizard to think that he had destroyed one more part of Vodemort's soul.

Voldemort's last Horocrux was alive and kicking… but the sliver of the Dark Lord's soul present in Harry's body would not be strong enough to manifest until Harry's own soul was demolished in a Dark Arts ritual.

When that happened, Severus himself would escape prison and conduct the ritual that would restore Voldemort to ultimate life.

And he would be honoured beyond any other man that had ever served the Dark Arts.

Severus looked down at the dusty yellow and ripped parchment and reread the words hastily written on it.

_The boy will be defeated and the Lord will emerge,_

_If a man powerful yet equally weak entraps the innocent_

_Blue depths shall capture the innocent heart_

_For neither will live while the other survives_

Severus smiled and inwardly thanked Sybill Trelwaney for her third prophecy…

The boy will be defeated… that was Harry of course, and the Lord was most certainly Tom Riddle. A man powerful yet equally weak… surely that was Jackson? Powerful at manipulation and killing but no experience in the field of magic? Blue depths… well that was quite easy.

It was the last phrase that pleased the potion master. Neither will live while the other survives… the same phrase present in the previous pharmacy pertaining to Harry Potter and the Dark Lord.

Up until last year, Severus had assumed that the prophecy had been fulfilled and the Dark Lord was indeed dead.

_But Sybill Trelwaney's had only made her new prophecy six months ago. _


End file.
